


Knots

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safewords, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s right around the point that Midorima pulls the last knot tight that Takao realizes he’s in over his head." Takao makes a suggestion and Midorima takes him up on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knots

It’s right around the point that Midorima pulls the last knot tight that Takao realizes he’s in over his head.

It seemed like a reasonable request, originally. In the course of one too many nights left to his own devices Takao began looking into new techniques to try with Midorima. Most of them were too ridiculous to even consider -- a few sent a flush of embarrassed heat down his spine and a promise to himself to bring them up later, maybe after both he and Midorima were sufficiently drunk. But bondage seemed like a fairly vanilla kink, and not one they’d tried before, and then Takao thought about Midorima’s hands tying him down and it was all over at that point.

The other boy barely even blinked when Takao first brought it up. “It’s called  _shibari_ , it’s supposed to be an art form as much as a sexual thing, I learned  _all_  about it.”

Midorima just gazed at him, shifted his glasses needlessly up his nose. “Did you.”

“Sure I did, I can tell you all about it,” Takao started, but Midorima lifted his hand from his face to cut him off.

“No, I am fully capable of understanding the concept myself.” And he hadn’t brought it up again. Takao sucked him off that night, and Midorima shoved him back against the headboard and jerked him off with the brutual efficiency that Takao loves, and the other boy thought that Midorima had been shutting down the suggestion.

He should have known better. Midorima excels at everything he choses to do, not always from natural talent; more often he practices, alone so no one can see him fail, so when he emerges he is fully a master of his actions. But Takao wasn’t thinking, as he so frequently isn’t when it comes to Midorima, and Midorima gives him no warning at all when he does decide to act.

It’s an ordinary day. They go to school, they go to practice; Takao bikes them back to Midorima’s apartment, protesting the whole way that it is  _still_  Midorima’s turn, as he always does, and then he follows the other boy inside without waiting to be invited. Midorima pauses to take his shoes off in the entryway, careful to align them both just so against the doorway, and Takao follows his example so he’s just at the other’s heels as they head down the hallway. When Midorima takes the turn into the first room, Takao’s eyebrows go up but he doesn’t comment; it’s not  _that_  shocking to go immediately to the bedroom, after all, and he’s certainly not about to  _complain_. So he’s close behind Midorima, just stepping through the doorway of the bedroom when the taller boy straightens, and turns, and Takao sees the bundled rope in his hands.

“Do you have a safeword?” Midorima asks by way of introduction.

For just a minute, Takao’s usual quick comebacks utterly fail him. The rope is falling in dark loops over Midorima’s skin, catching at his fingers and the white tape around his right hand, and Takao is caught so entirely off-guard that he has no response at all other than to gape at the contrast of dark-on-light, at the way Midorima’s fingers fit through the loops of the neatly tied rope.

“Would you like to choose, or shall I select one for you?” Midorima is saying. Takao has lost the question, lost track of everything except for the visual in front of him, and when he looks up at Midorima’s face some of the confusion must show in his expression. The taller boy huffs, clicks his tongue, and when he speaks again he is drawling the words slow and condescending. “You should have a safeword. Do you have a preference?”

“Scorpio,” Takao blurts without thinking. “Scorpio is fine.”

Midorima’s eyebrows go up, just slightly, but his mouth tightens with the threat of a smile and Takao knows he approves even before he nods. “Fine.” The taller boy turns away; there’s the faint sound of rope sliding over itself. “Strip and lie down on the bed on your stomach.”

For a moment Takao is breathless, half-frightened and half-excited and too aroused to move. Then he catches an inhale, and his brain decides his body’s on his own for this one, and he starts unzipping his jacket without thinking any further.

Midorima doesn’t turn around while he’s shedding his clothes -- Takao doesn’t know  _what_  he’s doing, maybe he’s just feigning his focus to seem more disinterested. It doesn’t matter. Takao’s heart is pounding by the time he moves to lie on the bed, his cock hard enough that he has to be careful in lowering himself to the sheets to avoid grinding himself too hard into the bed.

“Okay,” he starts to say, and the weight of rope falls against his skin instantly. Midorima must have started moving as soon as Takao’s knees hit the bed, to be there so quickly.

“Put your arms behind your back,” Midorima orders, and Takao obeys instantly. There’s no possibility of hesitation anywhere in his mind or his body, and the other boy’s fingers are curling around his wrists as soon as he moves, pulling them together so they’re lying flat in the small of his back.

“Tell me if this hurts,” Midorima says, his voice level. He sounds perfectly calm, cool and totally unruffled. From his voice he could be talking about a homework assignment rather than looking down on the trembling shoulders of his boyfriend. “I am not interested in hurting you this time.”

That makes Takao’s breath catch sharply, the potential flickering heat under his skin and images behind his eyes, but the angle doesn’t hurt, it just feels odd against his shoulders, so he doesn’t speak until Midorima is tightening down the knot at the angular bone of his wrist.

“What are you interested in this time?” Takao asks, turning his head on the mattress so Midorima can hear him. His hair is falling in his face and he can’t see much of anything, but his words come clear enough, even faintly teasing over the shaky sound of his breathing.

“Aesthetics,” Midorima answers, so fast Takao is certain he’s been studying. “That  _is_  what this is intended to be about, after all. Unfortunately I don’t yet have a sufficiently strong framework from which to hang you, so this will have to do. Sit up.” His taped hand closes over Takao’s shoulder, pulls the other boy up to his knees without Takao having to do much of anything. The weight of the rope falls across his neck -- Takao can feel the line of it pulling taut from his wrists up over his shoulder -- and Midorima starts to loop it across his chest, around his neck and against his waist so the pressure is sitting over Takao’s shoulders and hips rather than at his throat. Takao can feel Midorima’s breath against his ear, but that is as steady as his voice as he keeps talking, even though every gust of warmth sends a shudder through Takao’s body.

“There are various colors of rope available.” He sounds faintly lecturing, his tone strangely not at odds with the careful motion of his hands drawing the rope tight around Takao’s body. “White is common, though red is popular as well. But black will show up best against your skin, and accentuate your hair.” He pulls a knot tight and a tracery of rope draws in tight over Takao’s chest. “Tell me if this is too tight, particularly against your neck. It is not intended to impede your breathing.”

Takao shakes his head before he can pull words up from the haze in his mind. “No. No, it’s fine.” He sounds embarrassingly breathy but he can’t care. “Are you...are you going to fuck me, or just tie me up?” He’s not even sure which he’s hoping for more, the raw satisfaction of sex or the psychological taunting of Midorima just  _looking_  and not  _touching_.

Midorima’s hand pushes at his shoulder; Takao starts to tip forward before he realizes he can’t catch himself, has a brief moment of panic before the ropes pull tight and Midorima catches his weight to lower him slowly back to the mattress.

“This is what it could be, with a support structure I could suspend you from.” Midorima still sounds like a teacher, his dry tone going straight to Takao’s already hard cock until the press of the sheets is more a relief than anything else. “Someday, perhaps.”

Fingers come in against Takao’s hip, slide down the other boy’s thigh, past his knee, along his calf to his ankle, and when Midorima pulls Takao lets him, folds his foot up so the other boy can loop the trailing end of rope around his ankle.

“I am very fond of appreciating beauty.” Midorima’s voice is still steady even as the rope pulls tight, cinches Takao’s leg up at an angle that he can feel as pressure but not -- quite -- pain. That sounds like an answer, and psychological pleasure notwithstanding Takao’s strained body is  _deeply_  dissatisfied with it.

“Shin-chan --” he starts, whining with more legitimate desperation than teasing, for once, and Midorima keeps talking, loud so Takao can hear him clearly.

“In  _all_  its facets.” The taller boy’s voice drops low on that one word, deep and rumbling straight up Takao’s spine; Takao groans into the mattress, wordless with relief and anticipation at once, and Midorima’s fingers close on his second ankle to pull his leg up.

It’s right then, as the contact of fingers on his skin pulls away and anxious want surges high in Takao’s blood, that he realizes he can’t move at all. It was different, somehow, when Midorima was touching him, as if the taller boy were shaping him into some exotic form for his own appreciation, and the flicker-heat Midorima’s touch always brings with it was satisfying in itself. But now Takao can feel the pressure in his shoulderblades, the sharp angle of his bent knees, and even when he wiggles he can’t get much friction on the sheets under him.

“Shin-chan?” he asks. He sounds plaintive, lost and very nearly frightened. “Shin-chan, are you coming back?”

“Ssh.” Midorima’s voice is soothing, though not as much as the fingers that land gently against Takao’s spine. “I’m here.”

“What are you doing?” Takao pleads, all coy teasing evaporated into desperate submission in his throat.

“I’m stripping,” that level voice responds. The fingers lift off Takao’s spine but that’s okay, now that he knows to listen for it he can hear the rustle of fabric as it comes off the taller boy’s body. “And looking at you.” A touch again, this just above the curve of Takao’s ass; he jumps, or would if he could. As it is he just jerks slightly in his bonds, opens his mouth to gasp air suddenly very much absent from the surroundings.

He swallows, takes another breath, deliberately slowly this time. “How do I look?” He tries to sound teasing but isn’t sure he succeeds -- it feels like the question turns sincere in his throat without his intent.

A hand settles on his hip, this time accompanied by the shift of the mattress under him. Takao’s weight slides an inch in response -- there’s no way for him to brace himself, not the way his limbs are pinned back -- and then Midorima’s knee is sliding between his, angling his legs wider so he slides down flatter into the mattress.

“You’re beautiful, Kazunari.” The words don’t have any heat -- Midorima could be talking about a statue, or a basketball play, or a piece of poetry -- but the cool distance in them underlines them with sincerity, and Takao doesn’t need any more heat than he has already. He feels like his skin is on fire even before Midorima’s hand leaves his hip, even before he hears the sound of a bottle opening and the faint slick of liquid against fingers. He whimpers, tries to buck himself down into the bed, and Midorima doesn’t laugh but there is the faintest tension of amusement in his voice when his right hand comes down to steady Takao’s hip and he says, “Hold still.”

Takao doesn’t manage, entirely, but Midorima doesn’t wait for him to steady himself either; the smaller boy has just stilled himself into trembling on the bed, is just starting to take a breath, when Midorima’s fingers push against him. He exhales all at once, a groan and a sigh of satisfaction at once, and the taller boy fits two fingers into him and starts to slide in deeper. For a minute there’s nothing in Takao’s head at all -- no teasing, no protest, nothing but the insistent focus on  _relaxing_  in spite of the wave of sensation pouring over him so it turns into heat instead of pain. Then Midorima twists his wrist, shifts his fingers apart or curls them, Takao’s not sure, and there’s a burst of pleasure that shoots up his spine and leaves him gasping on the mattress.

“Relax,” Midorima says, like he always says, like Takao doesn’t know that already, and then he starts properly thrusting with his fingers and Takao loses track of any complaints he had half-voiced in favor of groaning into the bed.

When Midorima finally draws his hand free Takao is shaking, he can feel all the tension in his restraints holding him back even without any deliberate effort to pull himself free. It’s like the rising pressure of orgasm when he’s seconds out, he’s not sure that it’s  _not_  even though no one’s properly even touched him yet, and then Midorima’s hands pull him up to a slightly higher angle and Takao doesn’t care about  _anything_  beyond the next few seconds.

“Shin-chan,” he whimpers without any sort of follow-up to the name. “Shin-chan,  _please_ ,” and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for, doesn’t know what he wants, but he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Midorima can give it to him.

There’s pressure against him, the promise of more,  _more_  barely a breath away, and Midorima sighs. Takao can feel the first shake of tension in the other boy’s hands, settled on his hips, and then Midorima says, “Yes, Kazunari,” and pushes forward into him.

Takao can’t offer any resistance to the pressure at all. Midorima’s hands are holding him in place, pulling him back as much as the taller boy is thrusting forward, and for a minute Takao can’t do anything but choke and quiver against the sheets. Then he gets a breath, his lungs fill with the promise of sound, and when Midorima slides back to thrust into him again he manages to wail “ _Oh_  god, Shin-chan,  _please_  touch me.”

There’s a huff of air, a sound that would be a laugh from anyone but Midorima, and Midorima’s left hand leaves Takao’s hip. There’s the brush of skin against Takao’s, Midorima’s body pressing the pattern of rope over his back down against his skin, and then the other boy’s fingers close around Takao’s length and the smaller boy nearly sobs in relief even before Midorima starts stroking him. The angle is less good for the other boy’s thrusts -- they’re a little shorter, not quite as long and fluid -- but Midorima has put some effort into learning the right technique for a variety of positions, and he transitions so close to seamlessly that Takao can’t see the break. Besides, he’s twisting his wrist to press friction in against Takao’s length, and the smaller boy is starting to see the advantage to being restrained, because he can’t get away, he can’t wiggle away from the sensation to hold off his impending orgasm. He can just gasp, and groan, and pant, “Shin-chan, you’re going really fast,  _I’m_  going really fast,” as a warning without any associated desire for him to stop.

Midorima’s mouth brushes over Takao’s ear, and he breathes, “ _Good_ ,” and it’s the tone more than the meaning that does it, the low growl of satisfaction that makes Midorima sound actually human for a moment. Takao groans and shudders, orgasm flooding out into him, and the ripples of reflexive response feed back on themselves until he feels like he’s just a singular quivering chord.

Midorima lets him go as the aftershocks start to fade into involuntary shivers, replaces his hold on the other boy’s hip and comes back up to fall back into the slow long strokes he started with. Takao moans at the shift in sensation, the spike of pleasure almost painful in the wake of his orgasm; when he pulls uselessly at the ties on his wrist, arches his back so he shifts against the bed, Midorima’s breathing catches into a groan, his fingers spasm tight on Takao’s hips, and the pattern of his thrusts dies off as he comes into the other boy.

It’s just after Midorima slides back, while the taller boy’s breathing is still fractured by adrenaline, that Takao starts to feel the ache of the restraints in his joints. He’s just opening his mouth to complain when Midorima pulls at his ankle, does something to the rope, and his foot comes free. For all that the ropes took what felt like an eternity to get on they’re easy to take off, or seem so; Midorima gets Takao’s legs unfastened immediately, then loosens a handful of points and sorts of tugs the whole mess up off over the other boy’s head before finally untangling the knots at his wrists. Takao lets him, lies spent and shaky across Midorima’s bed while the taller boy unties him, and only rolls over onto his back as the other is beginning to unravel the web of knots into a single length again.

“You’re amazing,” Takao says. It sounds like he’s joking, as he always does, but from the look Midorima shoots him the other boy takes him as sincerely as Takao intends.

He doesn’t respond directly, of course -- he never does. This time he looks back down at the rope unfurling in his hands as he says, “Are you sore? You may be a bit stiff but you shouldn’t have any lasting pain.”

“Mm, no,” Takao confirms; although his shoulders really do feel a little tight, mostly he feels exhausted, warm and languid and pleased. “Come here, you can do that later.”

“I should change the sheets at least,” Midorima protests.

“Come  _on_ ,” Takao pleads. He sits up to grab at Midorima’s wrist, and when the other boy looks down at his hold he knows he’s won even before he says, “ _Please_  Shin-chan.”

Midorima huffs in exasperation, and rolls his eyes, but he does set the rope aside, and he does let Takao pull him down to the bed, and when the smaller boy curls in against him and drapes an arm over his waist, he only has to wait a moment before a long arm wraps around him and fingers settle into the fall of his hair.


End file.
